


Untitled

by KindOfDistracting



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Grand Enchanter Fussyclaws just had to be there, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 00:20:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5518427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KindOfDistracting/pseuds/KindOfDistracting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My secret santa for Icantivan!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sorry it's not very seasonal, but I tried that and my brain went "nope, not doing that."<br/>I really hope you like it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

Anders only notices that Fenris is in the room when he can feel Fenris's toes bump against his back. He un-cramps his back, stretched left, then right, and looks up at Fenris.

“Why exactly are you on the floor?”

Anders grins, a little sheepishly, and then shrugs.

“I couldn't sit in the chair anymore,” he nods towards his abandoned desk and the mentioned chair, “and Grand Enchanter Fussyclaws looked so comfortable napping on the rug, I thought I'd join him.”

Not to mention that his current place is located in front of the fireplace. Anders stretches his legs and then folds up again, legs crossed and torso bent down enough to reach the paper on the floor with his quill.

Fenris shakes his head and frowns, even though Anders can't see him. Some days...

“I can't believe Justice is letting you do this. Don't you dare complain to me about any sores or stiff backs tomorrow. I will not be kind.”

Anders snorts in response, the stream of words not slowing down – so at least it's helping him write, Fenris supposes.

There's a bit of shuffling, a few clanks, and Anders adjusts his (terrible, terrible) posture to let Fenris wrap himself around him. He rests his chin on Anders's back, and hums. One arm stays free, of course, and it doesn't even take a blink for Fuss to take the offering, fur soft and warm, like Anders.

“Manifesto?”

Anders makes a sound of affirmation, as the quill leaves more and more wet lines in its wake.

“I read over it again and decided to revise a few sections. It's the bits more _inspired_ by Justice – you know how wordy he tends to be. A bit heavy-handed, I guess? So I'll just lighten it up, so to speak-”

Fenris completely tunes out once he notices the size of the stack next to Anders.

“\- it's been going pretty smoothly, -”

“Mage,” Fenris interrupts, grip on Anders suddenly rigid, “have you eaten anything? How long have you been writing?”

 

Leave it to a cat to completely disrupt a moment of complete silence.

 

“I have eaten. Enough.”

An exasperated groan, and Fenris plucks the quill from Anders's fingers (“Hey!”),and chucks it into a random corner.

“Fenris, come **on**! And it was going so well, too!” But Fenris pulls him upright, chiding Anders with a click of his tongue.

“Enough writing for tonight, mage. Now you will sit straight, you'll thank me later.”

Once he does, Anders feels Fenris's thumbs dig into his back and shoulders, and  **Andraste's flaring frilly underthings** , it hurts like a bitch.

“Stop flinching, I'm trying to help.”

 

About half an hour later all three of them are sprawled on the bed, Anders boneless and relaxed and terribly happy with the world. So happy, it seems Fussyclaws is purring twice as loud to make up for him.

“Thank you.”

Fenris only huffs in response, an “I told you so” if Anders ever heard one.

“You know, I'm actually kind of hungr- **Ouch**!”

He did  **not** deserve that kick.

 

 

 


End file.
